


Heart(beat)

by carryaworld



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Minor Mila Babicheva/Sara Crispino, Phichit is a deity of mischief, Yuuri is his usual anxious self, brief mention of alcohol, everyone is safe and legal for the entirety of this fic, grad students Victor and Yuuri, no skating just dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-18 00:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20630153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carryaworld/pseuds/carryaworld
Summary: Yuuri is coerced into going to a party and ends up getting walked home by Hot Grad Student Victor Nikiforov. Phichit is thrilled.





	Heart(beat)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BatMads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatMads/gifts).

> Hi! I'm your gifter! The prompt I went with was: Party's over and now one of them must walk the other home. I tried to make it as soft and cute as possible so I hope you enjoy <3333

Yuuri is draped across the couch, mindlessly scrolling his social media when Phichit flops on top of him. 

“Phichit,” he wheezes. “What did I tell you about that?”

Phichit pretends to think, one of his bony appendages still digging into Yuuri’s kidney. “Oh, I know. You said, and I quote, ‘Phichit, under no circumstances do I want you to use me as your personal seat.’” 

“So why are you sitting on me?” Yuuri complains, squirming until he’s not getting completely squashed. 

“Because I didn’t want you to run away when I told you that you’re going to a party tonight!” 

“I’m not going to any parties, Phichit.” 

Yuuri doesn’t like parties on principle. Between his anxiety and his drunken inclinations toward embarrassing himself, it never ends well for him. 

And boy, nothing good ever comes out of the wicked smile Phichit is currently wearing. “Not even if Hot Grad Student Victor Nikiforov is going to the party?”

Had Phichit not been pinning him in place, Yuuri would have fallen off the couch. 

“What?” he asks, disbelieving. 

Yuuri is also a graduate student, in his first year whereas Victor is in his third, working toward a PhD. Victor is, without exaggeration, the hottest grad student in any department at the university. 

People flock after him in droves, to the point where Yuuri is sure there’s more than one instagram fan account dedicated to him. But Victor Nikiforov is an elusive man, and seems to prefer spending time with his poodle over all else. 

His presence at parties is legendary, though he must be a cryptid because no one can ever prove he was at one. 

“Yep,” Phichit says, popping the ‘p’ for the sheer enjoyment of it. “So you’re going.” 

Yuuri pulls the tasteful cheetah-print throw pillow over his face. “I can’t.” 

Phichit digs his fingers into Yuuri’s sides insistently. “Yes you can! I’ll pick out your outfit and do your makeup for you!” 

He could fight it. He should fight it. But Yuuri can’t deny that there’s a part of him that wants to go. And if Phichit is going to do his makeup… well. No one can do eyeliner sharper than Yuuri’s roommate.

“Fine,” he sighs. 

Phichit squeals and scrambles off of him, only to grab Yuuri by the wrist and drag him along too. “I know just the outfit!”   
  


*

Yuuri has many regrets by the time he’s walking through the front door of the house party, Phichit gleefully waving goodbye at his back.

A ‘shot for good luck,’ as Phichit called it, still buzzes in his veins as he slips through the crowd. It’s a relief that he recognizes more than a few faces here. Mickey is looking extremely displeased as his sister drapes herself over Mila, practically tipping the redhead over. 

Sara he sees often because she’s a senior undergraduate student in his department, and Mila he knows solely because she’s always glued to Sara. 

“Yuuri!” Sara chirps, weaving her way over with Mila on her heels. “I’ll make you a drink!” 

He raises a suspicious eyebrow at Mila, who grins at him. “I’m the DD of course,” she promises. 

Yuuri isn’t sure he believes that, but there’s no point in pursuing it. Sara mixes him a drink, which he sips tentatively as he scans the room. His eyes catch on the most fleeting glimpse of silver, but then it’s gone again, swallowed by the crowd. 

“Looking for someone?” Sara says, far too close to his ear. 

Jolting in surprise, Yuuri frowns at her as he nearly spills his drink. “Why would I be looking for someone?” 

“Play dumb all you want, Yuuri. I know what you’re after,” Sara snorts and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Come join us for a round of kings cup.”

“I really don’t think — ” Yuuri protests, but it’s useless. 

Sara always gets what she wants. 

Drinking games are a weakness of his, because he’s far more competitive than he lets on. Which is how he ends up three drinks deep, leaning back against the muscled chest of a random stranger. Or, well, he ends up wishing it was a random stranger. 

“Victor!” Mila squeals from across the table. 

_ Victor? _ Yuuri’s tipsy mind tries to comprehend. He tilts his head back, and finds himself looking into the most beautiful blue eyes. Eyes that belong to the one and only Victor Nikiforov.  _ Oh, hell. _

A bright, uninvited flush is already spreading across his cheeks and coloring the tips of his ears. 

“You should dance with Yuuri, Victor,” Sara puts in, because she’s a truly terrible enabler. “He’s really good.”

Victor glances down at Yuuri, lips curving into a curious smile. “You’re Yuuri?” 

“I’m Yuuri,” he says numbly, and then flails until he’s standing of his own accord. He may be a little fuzzy, but not that fuzzy. “Katsuki Yuuri.” 

Sara is sprawled across Mila’s lap, snickering as Yuuri tries to get his bearings. Victor honest-to-god pouts when Yuuri moves away from him. 

“Victor Nikiforov, pleasure to meet you,” he says charmingly. “So, you dance?”

Yuuri gives Victor a head to toe sweeping look before tilting his head with a coy smile. “I dance.” 

_ Thanks, Captain Morgan. _ He’s not normally flirty, and certainly not confident, but lowered inhibitions do the trick sometimes. 

Victor offers him a hand, grinning. “Care to join me then?”   
  


There’s a whole lot of whooping and cheering going on as Yuuri places his hand in Victor’s. Someone changes the music as Victor leads him toward a clear spot of floor space. Yuuri pushes his bangs back from his face with his free hand, and he’s just sweaty enough from the crowd that they stay back. 

“Can you keep up with me?” he asks Victor, equal parts playful and deadly serious. 

Victor’s eyebrows shoot up but he looks absolutely delighted. “I guess we’ll find out.” 

Yuuri doesn’t waste a moment grabbing Victor’s waist and pulling him into the familiar sway of the beat. He doesn’t need to know the song to know how to move to it. 

Surprisingly, Victor is pretty good at this. He moves fluidly with Yuuri, and the longer they dance, the more earnest his smile becomes. They pause only to knock back another drink each when they get parched, which in retrospect probably just dehydrated them more. 

Yuuri doesn’t care. Victor is solid beneath his hands, laughing freely when his silver bangs flop into his eyes for the umpteenth time. He’s beautiful in the realest of ways, and Yuuri never wants to let him go. 

“I want to do this always, Yuuri,” Victor says, a heart shaped smile on his lips as Yuuri rather ambitiously dips him.

“Me too,” Yuuri agrees, thoughtlessly honest. 

At some point though, even Yuuri’s legendary stamina wanes in the face of the alcohol buzzing in his veins. Their dancing slows until it’s mostly just Yuuri leaning on Victor. 

His eyelids flutter traitorously as his cheek settles on Victor’s shoulder. It won’t hurt to rest them, just a little. 

*

Victor’s spent most of his night being absolutely floored by Yuuri, and it’s still happening, even as the man in question practically dozes on his shoulder. 

Most people have trickled out and the party is clearly coming to its natural conclusion. It’s without a doubt some ungodly time in the morning.

A finger lightly pokes him, and he looks up. 

Mila’s girlfriend, Sara, is looking at him with a healthy dose of smugness. “Would you mind walking him home? I’m not sure he’ll make it on his own.”

Victor glances down at Yuuri and thinks she’s probably right. “I don’t know his address,” he says regretfully. 

“I do. I’ll have Mila text it to you.” Sara grins. “I appreciate it Victor!”

She skips off to link arms with Mila, who right on time makes his phone buzz in his pocket. Victor digs it out, and is relieved Yuuri doesn’t live that far away.

“Yuuri,” he prompts, gently shaking him awake. “Time to go home.” 

“Don’t wanna,” Yuuri whines, plastering himself against Victor. 

“C’mon, I’m walking you home,” Victor wheedles, and that’s enough to perk Yuuri up.

They make it out the door into fresh air, where Yuuri seems to get his second wind. He’s still unsteady on his feet, mind you, but he’s more awake and keeps flashing million watt smiles at Victor. It’s more effective at blinding him than the occasional passing headlights. 

Yuuri regularly gets distracted by just about everything, and Victor has to reel him in. It’s not as if Victor isn’t tipsy too, he’s just dealing with it better because all his attention is on Yuuri. 

That, and Russians are just better at holding their liquor. It’s a matter of pride.

He ends up holding Yuuri’s hand because it has the dual function of not only keeping Yuuri close, but also making him ludicrously happy. Victor kind of wants to faint as Yuuri cheerfully swings their arms. 

Occasionally Victor has to tug a little to keep him upright, but they successfully make it to Yuuri’s apartment building no worse for wear. 

How Yuuri remembers the door code in this state is beyond him. Victor practically holds him upright in the sketchy elevator, having refused to chance it with the stairs. 

Yuuri produces his keys from his pocket as they step out of the elevator, and proceeds to spectacularly fail at actually using them. Victor could have left him just inside the building and called it a night, and now he’s glad he didn’t. 

He absolutely does not have the ulterior motive of wanting to spend more time with Yuuri. 

Victor procures the keys from him, and since he’s slightly less drunk, successfully unlocks the door. Yuuri goes inside first, kicking his shoes off out of sheer habit. Victor mimics the gesture, even though he really should be going home. 

“Are you okay now, Yuuri?” Victor asks, and Yuuri immediately almost dies tripping over the corner of the couch. 

Well.

The apartment is mostly dark, with the exception of a lamp left on thoughtfully. Victor hooks an arm around Yuuri to prevent any other possible deaths by furniture. 

“Yuuri, time for bed,” he tries, and lets Yuuri lead them into what he presumes is Yuuri’s bedroom. 

Yuuri flops facedown on the bed with a low groan, and Victor feels his job is done. He’s most certainly not going to take advantage, and now that Yuuri is safely in his bed, it’s time to go. 

“Goodnight, Yuuri,” he says, easing out of the room. 

Yuuri shoots bolt upright. “Where are you going?”

Victor blinks, hardly able to see him in the low light. “Home?”

Makkachin is waiting for him, and his roommate Christophe, who stayed in to do his beauty care routine. His bed is sounding pretty incredible right now. 

Yuuri has other ideas. 

“Nooooo,” Yuuri cries, nearly falling flat on his face as he scrambles out of bed. 

Victor catches hold of his arm, narrowly keeping him from careening into the doorframe. Yuuri leans into him, and Victor is forced to awkward shuffle them back toward Yuuri’s bed. 

“I should really go home,” he says gently, lowering Yuuri back down onto the neatly made covers. 

Huge brown puppy dog eyes peer up at him, visible only because of the light the moon casts through the window. Victor should be immune to such looks, considering Makkachin pulls them all the time, but he feels himself wavering. 

“It’s not safe for you to walk home this late,” Yuuri insists. “You should stay.”

That’s not entirely true  — the part of the city they live in is fairly safe. Victor’s never had any problems walking Makkachin late at night. But when he starts to move away Yuuri leans in and wraps his arms around Victor’s waist. 

“Please? It would make me feel better,” he mumbles, words partially muffled but still hitting their mark. 

Victor lets out his next breath slowly, considering his options as best he can with a tired and slightly alcohol fuzzy mind. 

“Okay,” he caves. “But I’m going to sleep on the couch.” 

Yuuri’s mind seems to do mental hula hoops with that for a moment before he nods, sagging back onto the bed. Glad that they’ve finally come to an agreement, Victor steps out to fill a glass of water in the kitchen. 

It takes him a moment to find the cups, but he fills one for Yuuri and knocks back one himself before tiptoeing back to place it on Yuuri’s night stand. 

Surprisingly, Yuuri is hanging onto consciousness, having shucked his party clothes and struggled into something more comfortable. He looks incredibly soft and Victor dearly wants to tuck him in. 

Instead, Victor gets a pillow and a blanket pushed into his arms. Yuuri looks like he’d prefer to argue the sleeping situation but has given in to the exhaustion. 

Unable to help it, Victor smiles. “Goodnight, Yuuri. Sleep well.” 

“Night, Victor,” Yuuri mumbles in return, finally settling in to sleep. 

Victor slips out and quietly closes the door behind him, blanket and pillow in hand.

The couch is definitely not the most comfortable place Victor has ever slept. He mournfully thinks of his own bed as he nuzzles his face into the borrowed pillow that smells decidedly like Yuuri. 

Oh well. It can’t be helped. At least Christophe is gracious enough to take Makkachin out in the morning for him and feed him. 

All in all, it was a good night. Better than any Victor’s had in a long time, thanks to the slumbering beauty in the next room. 

Victor falls asleep with a smile on his lips. 

*

Yuuri wakes at some godforsaken time (6am), chugs the glass of water on his night stand, and then goes into the kitchen for more.

He’s bleary eyed but sober, and nearly has a heart attack when he realizes there’s someone sleeping on their couch. 

It’s definitely not Phichit, because while his roommate definitely came home last night based on the shoes by the door, Phichit does not have silver hair.

And then it hits him. 

Victor Nikiforov walked him home last night. Walked him home, and then slept on his couch because Yuuri had refused to let him leave. 

Yuuri knows from many poor life choices that sleeping on that couch is a doomed endeavor. It’s ancient, smells faintly like old take-out, and is definitely bad for anyone’s spinal alignment. 

And Victor is sleeping on it anyway, because Yuuri asked him. 

Oh god, he’s a terrible person. Phichit is in so much trouble for making him go out, even if Yuuri had the time of his life. 

He flounders in the kitchen, feeling extremely guilty. It takes a second glass of water for him to work his courage up, and he still approaches the couch like he’s walking on landmines. 

“Victor,” he says quietly, giving Victor’s shoulder a gentle shake. 

It takes a little more prompting for Victor to sit upright, though his eyes are still firmly closed. 

“Nggghhhh?”

“Come on, you definitely don’t want to sleep here. You can sleep in my bed,” Yuuri says, his face absolutely on fire. 

Lucky for him, Victor’s eyes stay firmly closed. He makes what Yuuri takes to be as a sound of agreement, but is only slightly helpful about actually making the journey. 

Yuuri is way too tired for this himself. It’s probably fair, however, considering Victor managed to get him in bed sometime earlier. 

The other problem is that Victor is exceptionally clingy. Once he’s on his feet, he latches onto Yuuri, mumbling something incoherent in Russian into Yuuri’s shoulder. 

Yuuri’s heart is beating a mile a minute, unfairly flustered at this hour by the hot dude using him as a support pole. His intention is to dump Victor in his bed and make himself a blanket nest to sleep on, but Victor drags him down in the process. 

They land on the bed in a heap, Yuuri wincing and Victor burrowing happily into the covers. Yuuri tries to squirm free of Victor’s octopus arms, but all he achieves is making Victor whine softly in his sleepy state. 

Thoroughly stuck, Yuuri takes several deep breaths. If this is his penance, there are definitely worse ways it could have gone. 

Victor is extremely cuddly and content to use Yuuri as his personal teddy bear. It’s not even a question of staying awake, because Yuuri is already dozing from the comfortable warmth. 

Yuuri absently tugs the blanket up to Victor’s chin and smooths it down before his eyes fall shut. A couple more hours of sleep sound amazing. 

He’ll wake up before Victor and make some breakfast, it’ll be fine. 

*

“Yuuuuuuuuri!”

Victor is extremely warm and exceptionally comfortable when someone’s ungodly squealing drags him out of his slumber. 

Yuuri doesn’t even twitch, but when Victor lifts his head the blurry person in the doorway gasps. 

“Damn, get it Yuuri!” the stranger mumbles gleefully. 

Victor blinks until the sleep clears from his vision and he’s making eye contact with the person that must be Yuuri’s roommate. 

The roommate smiles like an angel as he says, “Hurt Yuuri and I’ll make John Wick look like a sissy.” 

“Uh.” 

Victor isn’t even entirely sure how he ended up in bed with Yuuri, since he definitely went to sleep on that horrid couch. He is by no means awake enough for conversation, much less a shovel talk. 

The roommate keeps on smiling and gives an elegant finger waggle. “As long as we’re on the same page. I’m Phichit, Yuuri’s best friend and roommate.” 

“Hi, Phichit?” Victor tries, and it’s mostly a sleepy mumble. 

Phichit snickers at him. “Hi hot grad student Victor. Tell Yuuri to come out for breakfast when he wakes up.” 

He backs out of the room, closing the door after him before the words even process.  _ Hot grad student Victor? _ How does this person even know who he is? Is that a nickname people actually use for him?

Victor’s train of thought is derailed as a soft sigh from the person sleeping next to him. 

Yuuri was beautiful last night with his makeup done and dancing to the beat. He’s beautiful too with his hair mussed and mouth half open as he sleeps peacefully. 

It’s a different kind of beauty, but one Victor finds himself helpless against. 

He’s in an awkward spot though. Yuuri is sleeping, Phichit is cooking, and Victor is just… sitting here in a near stranger’s bed. 

What he does next is probably a crime on the same level as waking a baby animal that’s sleeping on you. 

“Yuuri,” he says softly, pushing Yuuri’s bangs back from his face. 

Yuuri makes a sleepy noise that makes Victor want to coo over him and squints one eye open. 

“Hnnnn?”

“Wakey wakey,” Victor sing songs, unable to help himself. He’s sorely tempted to pinch Yuuri’s cheeks but that probably would not go over well. 

It takes a minimum of three blinks for Yuuri to get his eyes fully open and another two whole heartbeats before he realizes the situation he’s in.

He sits up fast enough that all the blood rushes to his head and the room is momentarily fuzzy. Victor tilts his head, an easy smile on his lips. 

“Phichit said to tell you that breakfast is ready.” 

“Oh, um. Okay. You can go ahead, I’m just gonna, uhhhh — ” Yuuri slides out of bed, making his escape to what Victor presumes is the bathroom.

Which leaves Victor on his own to go join Phichit in the kitchen. 

Phichit takes one look at him and snorts. “He’ll be out in a minute,” he says, and coerces Victor into helping him set the table. 

True to his word, Yuuri does emerge  — hair brushed and seemingly more settled. 

“Thanks Phichit,” he murmurs, earning a grin from his roommate.

His gaze then settles briefly on Victor before dropping to his shoes. “Sorry about last night, thank you for walking me home.” 

Victor props his elbow up on the table and gives Yuuri a dazzling smile, almost knocking over his coffee in the process. “Don’t apologize Yuuri, I had an amazing time last night!” 

Yuuri’s face turns a brilliant shade of red. 

Phichit’s cough sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “You know, I think the bacon is burning,” he says, and flees. 

“Phichit!” Yuuri squeaks, but it’s too late, his best friend has already thrown him to the wolves. 

“Yuuuuuri,” Victor says, and it’s a stupidly attractive whine. 

“Let’s just eat breakfast!” Yuuri cuts in, and starts serving before Victor can disagree. 

Victor sits back in his seat and turns his attention to his food. It allows Yuuri a few moments to gather himself, during which Phichit still doesn’t reemerge from the kitchen. Traitorous bastard. 

“Yuuri,” Victor says, soft enough that Yuuri picks his head up from staring blankly at his plate. “Go out with me?”

Yuuri’s fork tumbles out of numb fingers and clatters against the plate. “Wha?”

Victor looks concerned for his health. “Go out with me? Like, on a date?” he repeats. “I want to get to know you better.” 

After a full thirty seconds of panicked floundering, Yuuri manages to nod. 

“I — yeah. I’d like that.” 

The smile Victor gives him rivals the sun, which in truth is murder with his hangover, but Yuuri is steamrollered by it anyway.

Phichit deems it safe to return and does what Yuuri’s aching brain cannot: facilitate Yuuri exchanging phone numbers with Victor. 

Honestly, bless Phichit. 

Victor leaves not long after their plates are cleared because poor Makkachin has been left at the mercy of Victor’s roommate for too long. 

“He’s a cat person, he just doesn’t understand,” Victor laments. 

Phichit is outright snickering but Yuuri nods along in agreement. He too is a dog person, after all. Saying goodbye to Victor is surprisingly hard  — this feels a bit too much like Cinderella and Yuuri fears he will be left with a rotting pumpkin. 

“I’ll text you as soon as I get home!” Victor chirps, and then he’s off. 

The door clicks shut behind him and Phichit lets out an ear piercing delighted shriek. 

“Yuuuuuurrriiiii! You got a date with hot grad student Victor, I’m so proud.” 

Yuuri has half a mind to push him off his seat, but he’s too busy smiling like an idiot at the new contact in his phone. Victor hasn’t texted him yet, obviously, but Yuuri has faith that he will. 

“Shut up, Phichit,” he says half heartedly. 

Phichit cackles and books it to his room. “I’ll leave the dishes to you, Yuuri! I have a wedding to plan!”

And maybe it’s too soon to be thinking such things, with four more years of grad school and a dissertation between Yuuri and a stable future, but he hopes. 

*

  
_ Bonus:  _

“Victor, if you let Phichit touch the playlist for our reception I’m going to use all of your favorite shampoo on Makkachin,” Yuuri threatens, nose buried in card stock. 

Planning a wedding is such a pain in the neck. It’s exacerbated by the fact that not only does Yuuri have to keep Victor’s extravagance in check, he also has to contend with Phichit and Christophe. 

“I won’t,” Victor promises, stooping to press a kiss to Yuuri’s temple. “How about this one though?” 

The song that comes out of his phone speakers is a throwback, and it takes Yuuri a moment to place it. 

“No…. Is that — ?”

Victor grins and sneaks another kiss onto Yuuri’s cheek. “From the night we met? Yes. Dance with me, Yuuri?” 

Yuuri wouldn’t dream of saying no. After all, he’s about to say yes to sharing his life with this man. 

“I’ll dance with you always, Vitya.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> As always I can be found on tungle.hell @carry-a-world or twitter @carry_a_world <3


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